Laughing with the CameraMan
by Miss Swaggins
Summary: Greg Heffley is in the eighth grade now. He and his friends and family are about to learn that the only thing predictable about life is it's unpredictability. Rodrick x OC and Greg x  surprise! . This is not a solely romantic story. :
1. The First Strike

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own diary of a Wimpy kid. The characters and concept belong to Jeff Kinney. This story's plot and all OC characters are, however, mine.**

There is one thing I absolutely dislike about Sundays: church. To devout Christians, this probably comes off as an insult, but honestly, as far as I'm concerned, there are perfectly good reasons to back it up. First being that church involves waking up at an ungodly hour on a weekend. It starts at nine and the average parents insists on having their children that have already hit puberty (this includes me) shower before dragging them into a building filled with other people. This means that wake-up time is about 7:30; it probably doesn't seem to bad to the adult mind, but trust me, to a teenager, it's hellish. Another perfectly good reason for disliking church is the semi-formal dress code that God imposes on everyone. Very few teenagers actually like getting dressed up, I sure know I don't. Almost all of the ones that do fall under the category of "female". All this in mind, imagine a Sunday morning at my house.

Since this is a new journal, I'm going to reintroduce my family. Mom and Dad are Susan and Frank Heffley. I guess they're good people, they try to be nice to people as often as possible and they try to make good people out of us, their kids. Overall though, I'd say their pretty boring. Next, I have two brothers. Rodrick is the oldest at seventeen and Manny is the youngest, having just turned four. I'm in the middle, at thirteen.

I probably wouldn't have liked Sundays on a good day, but let me tell you right now, half of the reason I hate them as much as I do, is my brothers. Manny has been telling on me pretty much since he started talking. Rodrick is pretty much the opposite. My oldest brother has a strict no tattletale policy (this is why he hardly ever talks to Manny), this is mostly because he'd always be told on. Basically, he constantly steps on my heels and plays 'harmless' practical jokes on me. His harmless practical jokes could probably kill me if I wasn't smarter.

Anyway, despite my best effort to stay away from Rodrick and Manny, Sunday, we all get packed into the car and driven off to spend two hours listening to our priest talk about God and Jesus and stuff. We don't even have a good priest. Two years ago, we were visiting mom's cousin up in Montana, they have a cool priest, he makes jokes and tells stories. His mass is actually interesting. Our priest is at least a hundred years old. I'm not sure why we haven't gotten a new one yet because this one keeps interrupting mass to turn up his hearing aid so that he can hear himself talk. To be fair, if I had a hearing aid, I'd be turning it up because I can hardly hear the guy. He just sort of mumbles it sounds like his tongue has swollen up so that he can't properly say his words.

I used to count the moles on the back of this man's neck, but he either died or moved away, so now I categorize everyone in the church by what color they're wearing. For example, there are exactly twenty women in pink today. I know it's lame, but it's still better than Rodrick. He picks at his scabs. The past few weeks it's been one on his arm that he got while skateboarding. Rodrick's awful at skateboarding. Much to dad's dismay, neither my brother or I was born with a single athletic bone in our bodies. I think Dad wanted football players, but all Rodrick wants to do is play in his band and I really just want to be popular. Anyway, I guess he can still pray for Manny, but I wouldn't put money on it happening.

Today was no exception. Church felt like it took centuries, and when I finally got out, I bolted to the car. The thing I hate most about my mom is the fact that she can chat for hours. I guess someone caught he attention, because she didn't make it to the car for about a half hour. Rodrick actually fell asleep waiting for her.

When she finally got into the car she turned to dad and started talking about whoever it was she was talking to. I guess there were some new people that had just moved in on the street. They've always lived in the city, but they're new to the neighborhood. I was only half paying attention to what she was saying. Mom seemed nice, blah, blah, blah, dad worked for a business, blah, blah, blah, daughter was in high school. Whatever. Sounds nice, but they don't really sound like anything that will ever involve me. It's like the every week. Today it was the new family (the Andrews or something), last week it was Mrs. Never-been-married's back story and the week before it was Mr. Levson's four daughters who were forming a band. None of it is ever actually relevant to anything in our family, so I don't see why mom brings it up. I think it's just because she likes to talk.

We got home and I pretty much had to push Rodrick out of the car to get by, seeing as he was still fast asleep. Nothing can wake him up once he's asleep either. Honestly, he can sleep through almost anything. Thunder storms are nothing, Manny screaming is nothing... yet he wakes with a start when he hears mom whisper that one of his friends called. I figured that maybe when he hits the pavement he'll wake up.

Well, first, I couldn't get Rodrick out of the car, so I ended up having to climb over him to get out the door. I'll tell you this, it's the last time I'm ever sitting in the middle. It took dad a bucket of ice water to wake my brother up. Admittedly, that was pretty funny. Rodrick jumped about eight feet when an ice cube got down his shirt. In summation, he owes the swear jar about twenty bucks.

After lunch, I wasn't about to let a perfectly good day of the weekend go by, so I decided to call Rowley.

Mom coughed. "Greg, did you uh, want to ask me something?"

I looked up, what was she going on about? She looked at me expectantly, then I figured it out. "Oh, right, is it okay if Rowley comes over?" Mom just nodded. I'm not sure why she makes me ask. I know she'll say yes, she likes Rowley.

With mom gone, I dialed my best friend's number and waited. It rang three times with no answer. I knew he was home, he was in church this morning, so there was no question as to whether or not he was around. I just waited. More rings. At that point I was convinced that Rowley wasn't going to pick up the phone. That would mean ignoring him for the next little while to get the message through that when your best friend calls, you don't just ignore them. When I'd finally given up hope and was just waiting for the answering machine to pick-up, Rowley's voice came across.

"Jefferson Residence, Rowley speaking."

"Took you long enough to pick up." I mumbled into the receiver, a little bit miffed at him for making me panic like that.

"Oh, hi Greg!" As usual, his voice was all perky, but he immediately became apologetic "Sorry, it's just that Leland's over and we're playing Dungeons and Dragons. Wanna play?"

Now I was faced with a situation: I like Dungeons and Dragons, but if Rodrick finds out what I'm up to, I'll never, and I mean NEVER, hear the end of it. EVER. According to my brother, that game is for losers and nerds. I'm not a loser, and I'm definitely not a nerd. I may be a bit on the wimpy side, but I am NOT a nerd. Kids like Alex Aruda who study or, I shudder to think of it, read, in their spare time are nerds. I am a slacker. That is exactly the opposite of a nerd. "I can't right now," I finally answered, I'm thirteen, way too old to be playing games. "But do you wanna come over here when you finish up?"

"Sure... Is it okay if I come over in an hour?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Do you want to stay for supper?"

"Sure Greg, if you're mom's okay with it."

"Yeah, it's fine by her. See ya in a bit, okay? Bye." I clicked the off button to hang up. I hated disappointing Rowley, and I could tell by his tone of voice that he'd been hoping we could play Dungeons and Dragons together: like old times. I'm thirteen though, so is he. We should be doing cool things, not playing games designed with hard core nerds in mind.

Well, since Rowley was busy playing at magic, I needed to entertain myself for the next hour. Some people can just read, or draw, I'm really awful at entertaining myself. I think it's all us Heffley boys actually. When Rodrick's forced to entertain himself he falls asleep. I usually end up playing video games. Unfortunately, kicking over Manny's block tower last week got me banned from playing video games, so right now, that isn't really an option.

I swear, by the time Rowley got to my house I was on my last limb. Dying of boredom seemed inevitable. The doorbell was water to my thirsty body. I hopped up with newfound energy and ran to the door where Rowley stood. Admittedly, he's not much to look at. He's chubby and gingery and has an awkward smile, but he's my best friend, so what can you do? With a smile and a hand motion, I let him into my house.

"Oh, Hello Rowley," Mom said, rushing past the two of us in the front hall. There was a time when she would stop to greet him properly, but I guess that since he's an almost permanent resident in our house, she's given up on it.

"Hi Mrs. Heffley!" Rowley had a puzzled look on his face as she ran by. He's still a little confused by the principle of greeting someone and then just rushing by.

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon." I grabbed his wrist and tugged him up the stairs to my room. Rowley just plopped himself down on my bed, I sat on the floor. "Are you really still playing Dungeons and Dragons with Leland?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow. So my behavior is generally what Angie describes as "condescending". This means something along the lines of I have a superiority complex. I know that's bad, but sometimes with Rowley, it's hard to just play nice. He can be so clueless.

"I thought you liked Dungeons and Dragons?" See what I said? Clueless.

"Yeah. Last year. In the SEVENTH grade. How many times do I have to tell you, we're growing up! If we keep acting like kids, we'll forever be at the bottom of the food chain."

Rowley just frowned. "Greg, you say this every year. And somehow nothing ever changes. Maybe we should just call it quits."

I shook my head. "No. It's going to change this year. I can bet you this year we'll be popular. I've been thinking," this was true, since school got out in June I have been thinking a lot. "Maybe we've been coming at this whole popularity thing from the wrong angle."

Rowley interrupted me. "You've been coming at this whole popularity thing."

"We have Rowley. We're a team." Everything I do, Rowley does too. He wants to be popular, I just tend to be the mastermind behind our plans. "Anyway, as I was saying: maybe we need a different plan. I was thinking artists. You're good at some kind of art, right? Can you write poems?"

Rowley looked confused. "I know you can draw... but I don't really think that we're the artsy type..."

"We could be. Get to work. Write a poem." I tossed him some scrap paper and a pen. I was going to try and write my own poem. Girls are total saps for stuff like that. I paused, trying to think of something to write. How does one start a poem? I tried to think of stuff like You're so beautiful, but I got stuck when it came to rhyming something with beautiful.

Rowley and I sat like that for a good hour and a half in full concentration. Occasionally, we'd write something down, or furiously scratch another thing off. I finally got fed up. "Okay, lets show each other our poems. I'll start." I tossed my piece of paper between us.

How beautiful is she,

A girl so stunning to see,

She looks at me,

I'm happy as can be.

I love her voice,

She leaves me with no choice,

I must-

That's where I ran out of rhymes and stopped writing. I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out to be a poet. But believe it or not, Rowley's was even worse! I was actually shocked by how bad it was. I didn't even know it was possible to be that bad at poetry.

In a small apartment in Rome,

I stood in wonder for a day,

I'd lost my favorite comb,

By coming all this way.

My hair is now a mess,

I feel so gross and awful,

I'm in such distress,

It should really be unlawful.

I rolled my eyes. Rowley's stupid poem would never impress a girl. "I think we need a different angle." I told him. Rowley just shrugged. I figured he probably didn't like writing poetry all that much anyway.

"What now?" Rowley asked me. I could tell he didn't have much faith in this whole situation. I know I've had a lot of get-popular-fast schemes that never came through, but I'm pretty sure this time I've got it. And can you really blame me for not being popular? I didn't have great role-models. Mom's crazy, all dad wants to do is build his Civil War set and Rodrick has all the appeal of a dirty gym sock. It's not exactly in my genetics to be well liked a popular beyond belief. I have always had that suspicion that I'm adopted, so maybe my real parents are movie stars or something.

I wanted to be able to give both Rowley and myself good advice on how to get popular. Once again referring to what I've already stated: I've never been popular, and no one in my family has, so I have no one to ask. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. I know I don't have to worry about looking cool in front of Rowley, but it doesn't hurt to always reinforce my image. "We just need to figure out what makes people tick."

"For example...?" Rowley looked a little confused and was now looking to me for guidance. I did a quick search of my brain and drew a blank. Trust me, it was the first and only time in my life that mom calling us down for supper came as a welcome interruption.

Wasting no time, I scrambled downstairs with Rowley at my heels. We were greeted by a table that was already set, and lasagna that had already been dished onto our plates. I sat down at my usual spot, and Rowley sat down at the guest spot reserved for him. Mom and dad took their seats, Manny was already seated, and as usual, we were waiting for Rodrick.

"RODRICK!" Mom hollered. I could tell dad was hungry by the way he was frowning at his lasagna as though it had deeply offended him. I knew the only thing this pasta had done wrong by my father was not being in his stomach at that moment. Really, it was Rodrick who should be taking the blame here.

Of course, my brother never takes others into consideration. He takes his own sweet time getting down the stairs while the rest of our bellies growl in frustration. Finally, my brother took his seat and we said grace. Dad attacked his lasagna, the rest of us just ate.

"So Rodrick," Mom began, turning to my brother who's mouth was stuffed with lasagna giving him the appearance of an ugly chipmunk. Like I said: all the charm of an old gym sock. "Have you made any more decisions about college?" I sighed. College was an issue mom and dad have been pushing a lot lately in our house. I guess it's the fact that Rodrick's in his senior year, so next year he has to do something with his life. Mom and Dad are a little worried that he'll end up like Bill and just never move out.

Rodrick held up his hand and swallowed his food. "Actually, I finally have made my decision."

Mom looked too excited to speak, so Dad took over. "Alright, care to tell?"

Rodrick nodded. "I'm not going to College." Mom blanched and I was honestly afraid she would fall off her chair. "Next year Loded Diper is going on tour. We're all going to load up into my van and drive around the country."

"Where do you plan on playing Rodrick?" Dad asked skeptically.

"Where ever we can get gigs. It'll be great, we'll get some real exposure."

"But Rodrick sweetie," Mom was positively hysterical, "What about after? What if your band split up? Or didn't get big? I think you need a fallback."

Rodrick just shook his head. "I don't need anything except my drums and my band." He replied defiantly.

"Well..." Mom trailed off, desperation in her voice as she searched for an argument that might work against him. "What about a family? How are you going to raise kids on the road with your band?"

I guess she didn't find one. "I don't want kids. Or a family. I'm not getting married. Life on the road is for me and for my band. I don't need to be tied down."

Mom's voice was raising to hysteria. "What about money? How are you going to feed yourself?"

Dad tried to get a word in, but between mom's panicked arguments and Rodrick's cool retorts, he couldn't get a word in likewise. I looked over at Rowley who looked deeply uncomfortable.

"Dad, can we please be excused?" I asked him. He just nodded, still trying to slip his point of view between his wife and son. Rowley let himself out with a simple goodbye and I retreated to my room. Life in the Heffley house is crazy.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello World. This is my first ever fanfic. So I'd really like you to review it. Constructive criticism is always helpful, but if you want to give it, please don't make me want to give up on writing here. Anyway, I very much enjoyed writing this, and if you'll give me the chance, I have big plans and new characters for this story. Hope you enjoyed!**

**xoxo**

**- Bird**


	2. What Should have been Left Behind

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Diary of a Wimpy Kid. However, this story and all OCs in it are mine.**

Normally, issues in our house blow over in a couple of days because someone out stupids the other. It's a little weird that the issue with Rodrick going to college hasn't calmed down. Actually, if anything, it's gotten worse. Mom is still in shock, which I don't understand. I didn't have any expectations for my brother, actually, I've been waiting for him to pull something like this since the tenth grade. No offense to him, but he's the laziest person I know. He hardly got through high school. I don't see how he'd ever make college work. Apparently, Mom has a different vision of him, because she's got it in her mind that whether he likes it or not, he's going. There's just that little setback that he turns eighteen and then he can legally make his own decisions.

Anyway, I guess this has really been eating at Mom because she's been in a foul mood all week. I really do feel bad for dad, he has to deal with Rodrick AND Mom. I think I'd probably hang myself. He deals with things a little differently. Holing himself up in the basement with his civil war figurines. Meals are the only time we're all together, and those are tense. Of course, Manny doesn't notice. He's such a moron, just babbling away, not being able to make sense of why no one's laughing at his dumb jokes. That doesn't help. It's just the sound of munching and Manny. I hate meals almost as much as Sundays.

Well, today I was forced to learn that silent meals are better sometimes. Lunch started out as it had for the past week. We all sat down in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. I've been wondering lately what it'll be like if things don't get better. Mom and Dad will get divorced and move to different states and every other weekend I'll be stuck in an airplane with Rodrick and Manny for three hours. That is not allowed to happen.

That's not what ended up happening, but my fate is something I see as being equally as bad. We were all just sitting around when mom cleared her throat. "Your father and I have been talking," dad looked confused. I, on the other hand, have realized that when mom says this, it just means I've-been-thinking-and-I'm-forcing-your-Dad-to-back-me-up. "As you've probably heard, we've been... disagreeing a little lately." Rodrick snorted, earning him a sharp, reprimanding mom-look. I can't say I blame him. Mom basically just yells as him every night. "Well, we've decided that we're going to take family counseling classes."

Rodrick moaned. "Ugh, Mom! We're not fighting, why do we have to get involved?"

Mom glared at him. "You really aren't that involved Rodrick. Your father and I are going to go to the sessions twice a week."

Rodrick nodded. "I have band practice, so I can't be around."

Dad was about to say something, but mom cut him off. "Fine. I already know who'll be babysitting Greg and Manny."

Rodrick burst into laughter and I felt my face get hot. "Mom, I'm too old for a babysitter," I complained, "I can watch Manny. Plenty of people babysit at my age."

"Greg, you're just not mature enough to babysit Manny."

"Mom, I'm not getting a babysitter." I was pretty much frantically insisting on it at this point. Rodrick was laughing mockingly on the other side of the table. I just turned to mom, begging her with my eyes.

I guess I'm not very good at begging because she just set her lips in a firm line. "It's final Greg. You're going to get a babysitter."

At this point Rodrick was howling. Mom turned to him with a firm "Shush." And that was all the consolation I got. In my entire thirteen years of life, this was the most demeaning, insulting thing ever to happen to me. Nobody gets babysat at thirteen. Well, no one cool anyway. I can't speak for Rowley or Fregley, but no one who has any intention of not remaining bottom of the social food chain for life still has a babysitter at thirteen.

Add insult to injury, we're talking a MOM babysitter. That is the worst kind of babysitter. The babysitter's mom picks are the old women who knit and have a million cats. They're also the old women who only want to talk about knitting and cats. The only problem I might have with them is dying of boredom.

The last babysitter mom picked, Mrs. Figgins, was an aging woman with tufty white hair and a missing tooth. She'd been living alone since her late husband. I'm was pretty sure she's over a hundred years old and not qualified to babysit anyone. Mom sure knows how to pick 'em.

One year Rowley's babysitter was Heather Hills. Heather is the prettiest of the Hills girls... well, actually, Holly might be the prettiest... All the Hills girls are pretty. You can bet I wouldn't complain if mom picked one of them to be my babysitter, but noooo. Last year Rowley's parents stopped using Heather as a babysitter after they caught her smoking on their porch. I guess Mom heard about this and she's worried that someone too young and too 'rowdy' might give me ideas. Trust me, if I want ideas on how to be a bad kid I'll just ask Rodrick. He's an encyclopedia of all things parents might disaprove of.

The rest of the day has been pretty hard on me. I just want to ignore Mom, so I even took it so far as to duck into the garage during Rodrick's band practice.

"What are you doing down here?" my brother snapped at me when I sat myself down on an old crate.

"Watching you guys practice." I replied evenly. He glared at me and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something when he was interrupted.

"Hey! Little Rodrick! Dude!" Bill ran up to me, giving me a hard slap on the back. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be affectionate, but if I hadn't known better, I would have said he was trying to kill me.

"Hey Bill," I winced at the pain on my back. For a guy with very minimal muscle mass, he sure can pack a punch.

Rodrick's other bandmates looked at me suspiciously, but seeing as Bill obviously likes having me there, they just decided to ignore me and play. There was a time when I enjoyed watching Loded Diper practice. That came to an end pretty quickly when I realized that the music they play is only listened to be losers and weirdos. In a nutshell, only guys like Rodrick listen to that kind of music.

Like I said, you know I'm getting desperate when I come down to listen to these guys, they aren't even that interesting. I think your sense of humor gets worse when you go to high school. In middle school, farts and poop really aren't THAT funny. According to Rodrick and his friends, these things are hilarious. In fact, I would say that 75% of their "band practice" consists of them taking turns saying dumb stuff into the microphone. They were passing it around with it on echo, when Bill got it.

"Want a try little dude?" He asked me nonchalantly.

"Ugh..." I didn't want to say no and look like I was boring or something, so I took it. "Who pooped their pants?" I said into it. With the echo on, the whole band, including Rodrick burst into hysterical laughter. Bill hit me on the back again in approval. I swear I'm going to have a bruise in the exact shape of Bill's hand on my back. I grinned though, since Mom had dropped the babysitter bomb on me, I'd been a little bit down in the dumps, having some stupid, immature, pointless fun with these guys was just that: fun. I laughed along with them (though I'm not sure why I did, it wasn't exactly funny) at all the potty-mouthed comments they made. On the rare occasion that they would start up another song, I would find myself tapping my feet to the rythm.

With a babysitter somewhere in my futur, it's not like I'm going to be popular anyway (I'll still try, but it's not really something I'd put money on at this point). Maybe I'll hang around with Rodrick's band more often. Then I'll become an exact replica of Bill (only slightly cleaner, because I really have no desire to smell like him) and that will teach my parents. If I become popular, I'll eventually be famous, maybe I'll even become president of the United States! Unfortunately, a babysitter is like hitting a slide in snakes an ladders. It sends you right back down to the bottom of the game board. I've worked too hard to get where I am to let some lousy babysitter ruin things for me. As everything stands I'd say if there are 150 kids in my grade I'm probably... oh, I don't know, 27th most popular. I lost some points when people thought I had the cheese touch, but since Holly Hills has been talking to me a little bit, that bumps me up more places than I lost with the cheese. The invisible Chirag joke also worked in my favor. Assuming word of this whole babysitter thing doesn't get out, I'd say I could breach the top twenty by the end of eighth grade. Then I'd be popular going into ninth grade. I need a plan. I can't let anything ruin my shot at popularity. Like I already explain: life is so much better when you're popular.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I'm pretty enthusiastic about this story. As you can tell, I haven't brought in any romance or OCs yet, but trust me, it's coming. I'm excited. Hope you are :3 Anyway, I really want to get as many chapters as possible up before I got to Thailand on Thursday. I'll try to post while I'm there, but I want to get my chapters up anyway. Please Review, compliments and constructive criticism are always welcomed!**

**xoxo**

**- Bird**


	3. The Girl with Feathers in her Hair

**I'm sorry that I haven't gotten to any of the romance this story promises, but stick with me, and not only will you get your fair share of romance, but there will also be some massive shenanigans.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Diary of a Wimpy Kid**

The day had finally come. The day I've been dreading since Tuesday of last week. The day where my social future takes a turn for the worst and I'm given the most dreaded thing in all of middleschooldome (other than head lice): a babysitter. I shudder just to think of how bad things would be if that got out. It would be like if I told someone that Rowley ate the _ _ _ _ _ _. That's what I equate it too. That's how bad this is. If someone found out, it would ruin me forever.

So when the doorbell rang, I felt like my heart had dropped out of it's spot in my chest and fallen into my stomach where it may or may not have burned up thanks to my stomach acid. That would explain the really not-so-fun sensation I felt. I don't want to be around someone who smells like old person! I don't want their clothes to be covered in cat hair! And more than anything, I don't want my social life to go down the drain! I've worked to hard to get to where I am, and honestly, where I am isn't really much to brag about.

"Greg! Your babysitter's here!" Mom's voice called me from downstairs. The word babysitter made me feel like throwing up.

I slunk down the stairs. Thank God Rodrick was gone. We're on better terms now, but he would never miss this chance to ridicule me if he were at home. It doesn't matter if we're not constantly at each other's throats anymore. We're not best friends. My pain is better than the comedy network as far as he's concerned. Anything that involves embarrassment for me could be reality TV and Rodrick would not only watch, but he would promote it... He's pretty much the king of Jerkdome.

My heart was sinking faster and faster as I descended the stairs until mom moved to the right just enough to make room for the new babysitter. I couldn't smother the look of confusion on my face.

This babysitter was maybe two or three years older than me. She was definitely younger than my brother, but older than me. This was not my mom's type of babysitter at all. She had been born after the invention of electricity. Mom usually preferred those who could educate us on the prehistoric times.

Maybe it was just in light of the past babysitters I've had, but I was convinced she was totally gorgeous. To be fair, she wasn't wearing bumblebee glasses and her clothes weren't awful, but she definitely wasn't super model material either. First, she was short. I know I grew this summer, but I'm still not excessively tall and I was just about even with her. At best she was five foot three, and in my humble opinion, to say that was stretching the truth. Not tall, not blonde, no straight hair but no perfect curls either, eighties style clothes... yet, I'm just glad I'm not stuck with a granny.

"Hi Greg, I'm Claire, the new babysitter." I was pretty much in shock. Of course, there was no reason for her to be in the house if she wasn't babysitting, but it was just so out of character for Mom... She was just too charming and young to be a babysitter that Mom had picked out. When she smiled her blue eyes lit up and crinkled in the corners, something I've only ever seen old men's eyes to do, but it was cute on her.

I raised an eyebrow. "Um... Hi." That was all my brain was managing to process at the moment. So, shoot me for being illiterate around pretty girls.

Mom is totally oblivious to all social patterns, but I guess that it's only fair to admit that in this moment she saved my butt. She just took the babysitter's shoulder and turned her around, explaining to her that she should meet Manny. You won't believe what I saw when she turned. In her hair, there were blue feathers. Now, I'm no expert on style or hair or anything, but I'm pretty sure blue isn't a natural high light color for dark brown... and I'm almost certain that humans don't grow feathers: most don't anyway. She put feathers in her hair. And Mom wants her as a babysitter. None of this makes any sense at all.

"So Mrs. Heffley," the girl, Claire, turned to her... employer, "Do the boys have any allergies or medical conditions I should know about?"

Mom shook her head. "Nope, neither of these two do anyway."

These are typical babysitter safety procedures. Any babysitter has to first quiz the parents on almost everything about the kids. Personally, I think it would be much easier to just give them a sheet they have to fill out before the babysitter gets to the house. As Mom and the girl walked back into the room, I realized how much easier that would make things. It would honestly save a good half hour. My mom is overbearing, so I guess it would probably still take her fifteen to twenty minutes just to make sure we were all settled and that no one was going to start crying when she left. That's just how my mom is.

Finally, I'm not even kidding, forty-five minutes after the babysitter had shown up, Mom finally got everything together and pulled Dad out the door. Something tells me Dad's not quite as into this whole family/marriage counseling thing as Mom is. It might be the fact that she quite literally has to grab his hand and yank him through the door frame to get him out of the house.

"Hey Greg," I turned to look into Claire's big blue eyes. "So, what do you usually do with your babysitters?"

I hate the word babysitter. It's a really insulting word to the kid being babysat. Especially if that kid isn't really a kid anymore. I frowned, "I don't need a babysitter." I finally told her, with just a hint of defiance in my voice.

She laughed. I liked her laugh. "Alright then, we'll just be friends." This was when I decided that I no longer hated Rodrick. The word babysitter would soon be discarded forever.

"I've only ever talked about cats with my other babysitters. Since we're-" I let the word hang in my mouth for a moment, enjoying it's taste, "friends, maybe we should do something else."

I was glad I was making her laugh. She thinks I'm funny. "I don't have any cats, just a dog and a little brother. So I think you're right, maybe we should find something else to do." I could tell that she liked me. At this rate I'll probably be her boyfriend by the time school gets back in. It is only August. I'd go back to school in September with a high school girlfriend. No one would question where I met her, they'd just look at me as a legend. I'd be a hero. I would provide hope to middle school boys everywhere that there are pretty high school girls who are interested in boys like us!

I had to keep it cool though. I couldn't break out the boyfriend card yet. I'd just met her. She was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to make a decision on what we were going to do. Something cool Greg, make it cool... I tried to think of things Rodrick thought was cool. "We could listen to music." I finally suggested.

"Sounds awesome," she grinned. "Let me go get Manny though, I have to keep an eye on him."

"Oh, yeah, makes sense..." I nodded and faked a smile. Manny? Really? Why, of all people and things on this planet, did it have to be Manny? She left the room and I rolled my eyes. Stupid little brother. I was hanging out with a high schooler, I don't need some dumb little four-year-old tagging along.

I walked over to our CD collection and started flipping through them. Now, admittedly, she doesn't seem like the most popular girl in the high school, but she's not in the same league as Leland either. She's artsy. Short but not tiny and delicate, her lips are too small... she'd never make it as a model, but she's still in high school. So that means I need to look cool when I'm around her. What kind of music does a sophisticated high school girl listen to?

"Bubby!" I cringed at the stupid nickname.

Then there was that giggle. I knew Claire was right behind Manny, hearing that EMBARRASSING nickname. "Awe," I turned around, she was holding Manny and smiling. "That's so cute! So, what do you guys want to listen to?"

I was about to suggest one of Rodrick's CDs when Manny cut me off. "Bawny." Well, I guess that settles it. Cute beats out the need to be cool in a girl's brain any day. In went the Barney CD. I flopped down on the couch. I need to give myself credit here. I was trying my hardest to be mature and not mope that we weren't listening to something I wanted to listen to. That's pretty hard though.

I felt Claire hit the couch beside me, but I was trying not to look at her so that she couldn't see what was a semi suck attack. At first, she wasn't saying anything, I wasn't sure if I was sending off some sort of my-life-right-now-sucks vibes, or what, but she seemed really reluctant to say anything. This was pretty much the lamest of all lame lamey things I could do, make her feel like she needed to babysit me. I looked up at her: Claire and her blue eyes and brown hair and ugly, frumpy sweater. I sighed.

"Look at him dancing," she said finally, rolling up one of the blueish colored sleeves of her grandma knit sweater/tent-thing. "It's really cool of you to let your little brother have so much fun, even though I bet you don't like Barney anymore."

I raised my head. Between you and me, I hadn't been thinking about that, I just didn't want her to think I was a prat. "Oh yeah... well, he is my little brother." This is really out of character for me. I don't usually take these sorts of chances, but she was my 'babysitter' so I figured there wasn't much else that could embarrass me further.

"Uh... wanna dance?" I asked her, standing in front of her with my hand held out.

She laughed pleasantly. "For sure." She took my hand and stood up. Now, I wasn't exactly sure what was playing or how to dance to it, but we ended up in a kind of waltzing position. I want to be the first to point out that she has all the grace and dancing ability of a handicapped sloth. I'm not much of a dancer, but she was all over the place. It's a good thing she was in socks: she must have stepped on my feet AT LEAST eight times during the first song. I was trying to lead but she was pulling me in the other direction. Overall, it was chaos. That is, until it ended with us backing over the coffee table... Claire basically back flipped over it and I landed on top.

I was slightly bruised, Manny was slightly shocked and Claire was trying to untangle her feet from the rug under the table. The music stopped and the three of us exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. Even Manny found the humor in this. My cheeks were getting sore, I laughed so hard. This was pee-your-pants and roll-on-the-floor sort of laughter. We all sat there taking in how stupidly funny this situation was.

Maybe my luck has changed. Maybe a babysitter won't be the end of my social life. Everything is starting to work out okay.

**ALRIGHTY! Thank-you to everyone who is reading this. I really enjoy writing it and I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it if you would review this and let me know what I can do better and what you're enjoying. Promise Rodrick in the next chapter.**

**xoxo**

**Bird**


	4. He who has been Hit

**Rodrick's in this one! :3 Anyway, enjoy! Please review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Diary of a Wimpy Kid.**

Since meeting Claire I've done my research on high school girls. I've checked various websites and learned what they look for in a boy. One of them said height, but there's not really much I can do about that, so I'm just going to disregard that little piece of advice. Otherwise, I got some good tips. Be a good listener, be smart and be attractive. I figured that those tips couldn't be too hard to follow. Right? Even Rodrick's had girlfriends. I don't see how I shouldn't be able to get a girl too. Let's face it, Rodrick isn't any of the things I've already stated that it takes to get girls to like you.

Rodrick tries to tell me that it's the eyeliner that does it for him. And that he's a musician, but I really don't see it. Not to mention all the girls my brother ever brings home are weird. They're pretty enough, but usally they talk too much and aren't very nice to me and Manny. They're never the kind of girls I would be interested in. I sometimes think Rodrick isn't even that interested in them, he keeps them as his girlfriends for maybe 24 hours before breaking it off with them. These short-lived relationships have never upset my brother. I think he likes it better that way. Anyway, this is why I turn to the internet, not him, for relationship advice.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. There's still no real boyfriend/girlfriend relationship between us, though things are definitely on the right path. Who knows? Maybe I will be dating her when school starts next week. I really think that now it's just a matter of making my move to sweep her off her feet. Though... well... I'm not really sure how to do that. I've never swept a girl off her feet. Does it mean that litterally? I'm not very strong and I don't think it would be very impressive if I couldn't hold her up. I really don't know if that actually happens or not. Is that just movies? I really don't think she wants to be dropped...

I don't have time to be deliberating the meaning of some silly phrase. The ding-dong of the bell sounded and I hustled downstairs to open the door for her. She strode in. At this point she was only a step away from becoming a permanent fixture in our house: a thought I didn't mind at all.

I smiled at her. "Would you like me to take your um..." I paused, looking at her vest. It was sort of a vest, sort of a coat and possibly the ugliest piece of clothing I've ever seen. It's a shame that such a pretty girl wears such horrible clothing.

"My coat?" she laughed, "Sure thing Greg." She handed me that thing. I winced at the clothes underneath. Let's say that if her coat has been bad, this was possibly worse. It was like a stringy vest over top of some weirdly patterned long sleeved t-shirt.

"Claire? Oh! Welcome dear, I didn't hear you come in." Mom loves Claire. I think she finds her choice of clothes charming, because I've noticed she's been trying to wear some weird clothes lately. I mean, that's not the only thing, her high grade point average and sophisticated hobbies might have something to do with it.

"Hello Mrs. Heffley," pleasent as always, Claire smiled at my mom, "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Mom seemed distracted, "I've been thinking ..." she trailed off as though she were changing her mind about saying whatever it was she had to say. "Well... it's a lot to ask but... well, would you be the permanent babysitter for Manny and Greg?"

Claire smiled huge "Of course I would!" She gave me a hug from where she stood behind me. "I love these guys!"

Mom smiled. I figured she must be glad to have that settled. Now she didn't have to worry about finding another babysitter for us. Glacing down at her watch she exclaimed "We really have to get going," she turned towards the kitchen "Frank!" she called my dad, who always tried to get out of councelling and was probably hiding under the sink or something at the moment, "Alright, well, you know everything. Bye!" She grabbed my dad, who'd made his way out of the kitchen, kissed my forehead and then pulled her husband out the door with her.

"Hey Manny! How's the big boy today?" she gave him a warm hug. Like I said, she was becoming a permanent fixture in our house. Manny loved her. He even had nicknames for her, Claiwy, Clowny. (Not too sure where the last one came from, but I've never had any insight into Manny's mind, so it may seem logical to him.)

Manny just beamed up at her in that I'm-a-cute-little-kid way. I rolled my eyes behind them. "Claiwy!" Like I said, he loved her. Though he couldn't even say her name right.

"What are you doing?" motioning towards the craft spread across the table, she asked him in that cutesy babysitter voice.

"A cwaft." This made her smile and giggle. She loved the fact that he couldn't say the letter R. As she explained to me one night after putting him to bed, he was: and I quote, "Precious."

"What a cool craft!" she sat down next to him and started to talk with him, never faltering with her use of the little kid voice. Manny moved some popsickle sticks and glitter glue around, showing her how to make people and houses. I was immensly bored.

"I'm going upstairs," I finally announced. I was a little put off that she was ignoring me.

"Alright Greg, I'll call you when supper's ready." She turned to look at me, brushing a lock of brown hair from her eyes. _Stupid blue eyes._ I thought to myself. I sort of forgave her for ignoring me. It's a babysitter's job to pay attention to the kid she's babysitting. Since Claire wasn't really babysitting me it made sense that she'd play more with Manny.

I now understood where she was coming from, but that didn't make me happy about it. Grudgingly, I made my way up the stairs and to my room where I flopped down on the bed. My ceiling was really the most interesting thing right now. I could call Rowley, but I didn't really want him over while Claire was here. He was a hit at my brother's party last year, but that was a different crowd than the group she hung out with. Claire was sophisticated and mature, Rowley will never be sophisticated or mature. He's the farthest thing in the world from sophisticated and mature! He'll probably grow up into a chubby, less scary version of Rodrick.

Thinking about Claire got me wondering if there were ways to attract her. The eyeliner... that was the only thing that kept coming back into my head. Timidly, I opened the door of my room and slunk into the hallway in the direction of Rodrick's room. I knew that if my older brother found out, he'd pulverize me, but I had to impress her. And it had worked once or twice for Rodrick, right?

First thing that is very important to know about Rodrick's room before I begin to recount what happened here, is that it is perpetually a mess. There is hardly a spot of floor that isn't covered with some kind of garbage or another. Secondly is that his whole room smells like a bad mixture of body odor and cheap cologne. I gagged as I stepped into his room. My hope that this would be quick and painless was soon destroyed. I carefully nudged at a small mound of wrappers, hoping nothing alive was hiding inside.

I figured the best place to start was his dresser. If I had make-up, that's where I'd keep it. I checked along the cluttered top, to no avail. I checked his bedside table, his mattress, the floor, even (at my own risk) under his bed. He must have taken it with him when he went to hang out with his band. Maybe he was on a mission to get a girl too.

Despite not exactly scoring with my initial plan, I did come up with a second option. Rodrick had some cologne on his dresser. It was in a black bottle with the words "Chick Magnet" printed in large font on it. I figured that spritzing myself with a bit of it wouldn't hurt.

"Greg! Dinner's ready!" Claire's voice called up the stairs.

"Just a second!" I called back, spraying the cologne as fast as I could. Seven sprays should do it, right? I added three more to make ten, that seems like it's always a safe number.

With newfound confidence given to me by the cologne, I strutted down the stairs and sat myself down at the kitchen table. "Sorry to keep you waiting," I said cooly.

"It's fine," Claire replied, sitting down. She reached one hand out to me and one to Manny as we said grace. When grace was over she couldn't help but sneeze into her arm.

"Bless you," it was a habit for me to say that when someone sneezed, just like Mom.

"Thanks..." she replied, wrinkling her nose. She ate a few spoonfuls of her soup when she sneezed again. She turned to me before I could even bless her. "Greg... are you wearing cologne?" she asked.

"You noticed?" I tried to sound totally cool and bored, but a guy can only do so much.

"Um... yeah, I did... Did you spill it?" she looked slightly uncomfortable. I looked over to Manny who was wrinkling his nose. Had I put too much on?

I shifted in my seat. I've always been an awful liar. "Yeah... um... sorry. A little strong?"

She nodded and sneezed again. "Know what Greg, maybe go take a shower and then come back down to dinner." She wiped Manny's nose with a napkin after he sneezed for the second time.

Hurt and upset I slunk upstairs to the shower, letting the warm water wash off the smell of Rodrick's stupid "Chick Magnet". No wonder Rodrick never had any girlfriends. His cologne was like mosquito repelant for girls!

I scrubbed myself with soap, trying to get rid of the smell. I washed my hair with my best smelling shampoo, used my body wash and soaped myself down about a hundred times. That was all it took to get the smell off me. Feeling fresh and clean, I made my way back downstairs in my jeans and t-shirt.

Claire was already up and clearing away some dishes. She made her way over to me and took a teasing sniff. "Much better." she ruffled my wet hair. "You should eat, we can only keep it warm for so long." I nodded and sat down. I watched her move carefully around the kitchen. She cleared pots and pans from the counter, rinsed them and then put them into the dishwasher. She moved carefully, as though she were afraid of dropping and breaking something. With her coordination, I could see it happening.

By the time I had finished up, Manny was yawning. I knew this would occupy her attention, so I didn't even bother trying to start a conversation. "You go put him to bed, I can clean up my own dishes."

She beamed at me. "Thanks Greg, you're a sweetie." she picked up Manny and started cooing to him as she took him up the stairs to his bedroom. I smiled. Sweetie wasn't exactly the term of endearment I'd been looking for, but it was something.

My bowl didn't have much stuck to the edges, so I was done with my cleaning in about thirty seconds. Now, I just waited for Claire to come back downstairs. I still had two and a half hours until I went to sleep at ten, so I figured I should make the best of it. I knew she hadn't agreed to it yet, but I figured a movie might be nice. Surprisingly, we hadn't done a movie yet. She had spent hours at my house, but I'd never sat down to a movie with her. That settling the matter meant that I was now setting up the DVD system.

Claire came back down the stairs to find me in the living room. "What do you want to watch?" I asked her.

"Oh, whatever you want is fine." she replied in her usual indecisive way, "Great idea, by the way, I felt like a good movie."

I beamed at her words of approval. Pawing through our lame movie selection I finally found one. "The foot". It was a movie for adults and teenagers. Last time I watched it, I almost cried. But I wanted to impress Claire, so I'd watch it. I pulled it out and held it up. "How about this?"

"Acutally, I'd rather watch something like..." she got down to take a look at the movies. "This." she picked out a movie that was funny and family friendly. It was actually my favorite movie. In that moment I realized just how much I liked her. Now, she probably could have said that I was too young to watch it, but instead she just suggested something else. Man, she's a great girl.

I popped the movie in and we sat down. I could tell she was tired, so I didn't really try to talk too much. On top of that, the whole cologne incident had been pretty embarassing. About three-quarters of the way through the movie, the three glasses of milk I'd had for supper got me and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. She thoughtfully paused the movie. "I'll wait for you to get back." she explained. I nodded and left.

I guess while I was in the bathroom Claire heard a noise by the back door. The hinges on that door squeak just enough for you to be warned when someone opens the door. The rustling from the area must have freaked her out because she stood up slowly and inched down the hallway, grabbing a broom lying against the wall while she was at it. Peering around the corner towards the door, she saw a man, probably eighteen or nineteen moving about. As she later told me, her heart froze. He was tall and lanky, but with enough obvious muscle mass for her to avoid hand to hand combat with him. He was one of those punks that parents warn their kids about. The kind that cause trouble to be funny. He must have been robbing the house... or worse.

From the bathroom I could hear her yelling. It wasn't totally clear what she was saying, but she seemed to be in a bit of distress. I was worried about her and quickly washed my hands and ran to her aid. I watched in amusement from the corner as Claire hit the intruder repeatedly with the handle of the broom. She seemed to be hitting quite hard too, because the figure was wimpering and trying to escape. I figured she had it under control and I was about to leave to call the police when I recognized him.

"Claire! Stop!" I yelled. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning her big, concerned blue eyes towards me.

"Greg!" her voice was laced with concern and panic. "Get out of here, call the cops!"

The figure straightened up as much as he could while still holding his stomach. "Don't call the fucking cops. I haven't done anything wrong."

I laughed. "Swear jar Rodrick."

My brother looked up at me, his lip was bleeding and his eyeliner was smudged. "What the hell is going on here?" He seemed really irritated and angry. Not that I would blame him. He'd walked into his own house to be assailed by a girl he didn't know. He'd then been bludgeoned multiple times with a broom and now he was being laughed at by his little brother. Doesn't really sound like fun.

"Swear jar." I pointed out again, just to aggravate him further. "Well," I began "Let's see, you sneak in through the back door hours before you're meant to get home and you scared the babysitter."

Claire was standing stupified a few steps away from the hunched over figure of my brother. She was still clinging to the broom as though she would swing back into action at any second.

I figured it was my job to clear things up. "Claire, this is my older brother Rodrick."

She raised an eyebrow at him. I'd never seen her be judgemental before, but then again, it's easy to judge a boy wearing eyeliner who, a second ago, you'd thought was a robber.

"Nice to meet you too," Rodrick muttered sarcastically.

"I'm sorry..." she whimpered. I knew she hadn't meant any harm, she was just trying to protect Manny and I. Rodrick wouldn't understand that.

"Whatever," he straightened himself up painfully and moved past us. Claire still looked as though she were in shock and I was trying my very hardest not to laugh, and trust me, that was really hard. My face was red and I kept making whimpering skweaky noises.

Once Rodrick was out of auditory range, Claire turned to me with a stupefied look on her face. "What just happened?"

I didn't even answer. I just burst out laughing. I don't even remember the last time I laughed that hard, I fell against the wall, shaking with laughter. "Oh Greg!" She scolded, "It's not funny! He... I hurt him!" She seemed distressed by the whole situation. "It's..." she started laughing. First little giggles, then she was laughing hysterically with me.

We laughed long and hard. A cry from upstairs of "Damn it Greg! My room's going to have to be fumagated!" made our laughter ridiculously loud.

Claire was the first to calm down. Her sides aching from laughing, she walked over to the living room, motioning for me to follow. Our movie would never be finished, Rodrick was trying to set his things up on the couch. His lip was still bleeding. I guess Claire felt pity for him or something, because she went to the kitchen to wet a clean towel with warm water. She moved over to where he was and cautiously sat down beside him.

"I'm really sorry about that," she smiled in that soft way of hers. She moved her hand to Rodrick's face, he moved away. "Hold still." There was a playful authority in her voice. Rolling up the sleeves of that sweater, she dabbed the cloth to his bleeding lip. It must have been tender because he wimpered a little bit. She just smiled reassuringly.

Removing the towel from him face did make it look a lot better. The blood was gone, though his eyeliner was running. I could tell by Claire's reaction that she was not a fan of the eyeliner. She wiped that off too, in a true motherly fashion. "There," she cooed, "Now the rest you'll only be able to put ice on and hope it doesn't bruise too bad."

This whole time, from my view point in the back of the room, I could tell that Rodrick had been dealing with some mixed emotions. She'd beaten him up, laughed about it and was now playing nurse for him. "I ugh..." he stammered, looking at her "I guess it's fine... you hit hard for a girl," he laughed, rubbing his stomach which was still tender.

She laughed. I didn't much like her laughing at Rodrick's jokes. And she was sitting too close to him. I cleared my throat. "Rodrick doesn't need babysitting, you know." My tone was light, but I meant it. He was fine taking care of himself.

"Shouldn't you be in bed Greg?" my brother remarked sarcastically.

She practically flew off the couch to grab my hand. "Oh my gosh, you should be! I... well I don't want to let down your parents! And I have to check on Manny!" She ran up the stairs leaving Rodrick and I alone in the living room, confused.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! So I hope you're enjoying my story so far. I'll keep writing, but the more reviews I get, the quicker I'll update. Anyway, let me know what you think so far and what you'd like to see happen in the story. Maybe I'll include it!**

**xoxo**

**-Bird**


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